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Villain Transmigration: Author Transformation

[ENRICHED WITH MATURE CONTENT. PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION. ] AUTHOR TRANSMIGRATION "I want to write Villain perspective! Enough of this Hero and Heroine gig!" Nathalie Jean Quinn, life was so ordinary until she wrote the first book of her sequel, The Prince's Retribution, swept all over the literature world and garnered massive fan base and fortune. Now, she wanted to leave out of her comfort zone and challenge herself-- To seek the memoirs of a villainess in the story; for its sequel, The Prince's Ascension, Mystique is revealed. But even the management and the audiences begged to differ, so she made her way. Although, in the middle of completing the Sequel, the main villain, Mystique Blackwell, comes for her in that magical encounter and cursed her. Will Nathalie now transform to a monster that she created in her own story? *** Excerpt*** "You're mine. Am I clear? You're my property." Mystique was pressing her thighs against his, which he could never break free from her beguiling clutches. She was on top of him; the surge of confidence came with her and took charge for the whole ride. Her eyes were obscured with gleaming lust, and her hands worked their wonders and slinked to his chiseled abs up to his brawn sweaty chest. Every time she landed a smooth caress, he let out a stuttering moan as he was in spasms. His toes would dig deep into the mattress, no different from his nails that clawed, not trying to touch her sacred body. It wasn't all as she reached for his nipples, rubbing them ever-so-softly. The man would throw his bobbed back to the woolly pillows and arched his back from pleasure. Even though the bed creaked—fast and subtle that played their ears—she loved it. Just as she adored every point in him... Not a second delayed as he would shiver every time she would stroke the same parts of him. On the other hand, she has kept up the pace ever since. She crashed her well-endowed chest against his. Their lips parted by a hair's breadth, and he gritted his teeth as he saw her angelic feature up-close, driven by ecstasy. His gestures and countenance fueled her within, hastening the pace. There, he couldn't control his voice and let out pleasurable groans and grunts. Within those seconds, more thoughts began to blur her. She grabbed a handful of his hair, bringing him closer to her while whispering his ear. "You're mine. Am I clear? You're my property." *** P,S, The book has come to an end in a good note! Thank you so much for reading!

Aethereal · Fantaisie
Pas assez d’évaluations
322 Chs

Proclaimation of Peace

Muffled thuds that were rather slow and but not feeble, resonated from the carpeted floor to the marbled hallway.

From the array of arched windows, the bright light repeatedly graced upon his statuesque face, foreign to the concept of age. Those crimson eyes never lost its hues, as it was filled with knowledge and wisdom, as so many decades passed akin to storing all of the events that flashed before him.

Moreover, the majestic crown, of gold and stone embellishments, sheened as it perched atop his head. Even his surcoat and trousers were well-embellished with gold linings and the unique imperial emblem that belonged to the rightful owner.

The emperor.

But it wasn't just any other emperor, for the man who carried all of the burden of the Dysnomia Empire on his shoulders along with the sacrifices behind his trails.

Nevertheless, he held up high, unbothered from the long line of knights, men-at-arms, and even the noble officials that gazed at him with great reverence. He never broke contact upon the rich hue of blue in broad daylight with the clouds that hovered in his presence.

The kind of blue that he longed and dreamed of, finally had his heart swell in joy.

'Alas, the decades of war ended, officially.'

It was all he could think of at the moment.

Soon as he got close to the royal balcony, the round of applause, cheers, and profound roars assaulted his hears, none of which was a burden as it was but a fuel to his pride.

With his arm raised, he avowed, "To all my loyal subjects of the Dysnomia Empire, I have come all the way here to share the good news that shall fall to our domain from now on."

Silence then befell them. His eyes wandered for a while, almost scrutinizing every hopeful look and giddy body gestures that overcame them.

"The prosperity and peace of the empire shall once again reign for eternity as I, Athan Ordell Vladimir, successfully reclaimed all of the territories as we deserved."

From the brief announcement created an earful chorus of joy among the crowds, lifting their arms up high while some cried, the rest screamed on top of their lungs.

Athan pressed his lips, somewhere deep within him shaken from their smiles and overflowing emotions that preceded them.

None of them had to think about the uncertainty to live for tomorrow that laid before them.

Some of them had no more time to think about grave decisions and sacrifices.

Most of them would be able to live a life to the fullest.

All of them are able to look forward into the future and put an end by breaking the chains of the past that hindered them.

After which, Athan dropped another royal decree.

"Lives weren't all for naught as I shall acknowledge and commemorate our valiant brethrens in times of the empire's struggle and plight. My loyal subjects, you shall all bear witness of this grand event that shall mark throughout history."

This time, it was time for the grand dedication of every individual, group, and the lot that made a contribution to how the empire rebuilt itself from the brink of ruin.

One after another, every aristocrat and militia walked towards the emperor for the grand exposure. Meanwhile, for the fallen also had fair share with the same people though their palms open that laid atop the memento of the fallen comrades to present among the masses.

Each of them were given time.

Some were happy and overjoyed.

Some brought themselves to tears.

The latter, could be said, was pretty common, especially for the direct families and relatives of their kin.

Though it had a different impact, as the kind of sadness and forlorn surged like tides on the hearts of people.

Especially, in the middle of ceremony, a woman with silver eyes and kempt ginger curls and fringes had her aura screamed in full regalia: red velvety fabric and gold trimmings on her gown and mantle draped the carpeted floor as it was for hers to strut.

With the kind of crown, no less than the emperor's, everyone knew it was the sole empress of the Dysnomia empire, Veronica Danne Silvermoon. However, in her hands bore great contrast as hers.

A broken tiara—now aged with fine crystals and corals.

In its fracture engraved the only insignia of the Fallen Grand Duchy of Blackwell.

Athan gritted his teeth as the same round of heavy emotions rammed his heart. It was no different from asphyxia.

Waves of depression and sadness hit him every now and then; his cold and unperturbed demeanor that he effortly built throughout the years shook him like it was nothing.

'Damn, it still hurts me everytime.' Athan knew his chest tightened, as much as he wanted to clench and rip his heart out to alleviate the pain, he couldn't.

From the person who had its household vanished, and came to a halt with her.

To the person who was all alone in the end. For she had, in a row, every person held dear around her vanished before her eyes.

Seeing the only thing that would remind of her, was one of the least things he could do, if that meant hurting him in the process.

Veronica gulped hard, trying to suppress the almost brimming with tears in her eyes, before she turned in the only memento to her significant half. Her trembling hands became contagious when the tiara was in his hands.

Regardless, he lifted her only item up for everyone to see.

By and by, his throat ran dry.

Athan closed his eyes and announced.

"...For a life that stood out as a conniving villainess. She could have added more fortune and prestige but caring for neither as the great war came, she found great honor and privilege in being helpful to the Dysnomia Empire..."

Every word he uttered drew heavy, but he tried his best to maintain composure, for the people that looked up to him.

"...Grand Duchess of the North, Mystique Violette Blackwell, had heroic deeds outweighed and determined the reversal of our ill-fated instance…."

Drums and howls reverberated along with the cheers of victory that filled the capital.

Unbeknownst to them, deep within Athan had more remorse and guilt to people around him, but mostly done unto her.

'If only I could turn back time again. I could've treated you right.'

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